


Some Messages Stay Drafted

by Olliekoi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olliekoi/pseuds/Olliekoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is alive, and still living in London under a new name and sporting a new look. Unbeknownst to John Watson. A year into his change of identity, he starts receiving texts from John. He replies, but that doesn't mean he sends them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was rather surprised at his awakening one crisp, early Thursday morning. He was positive it was Thursday, he couldn't forget such an awakening. A text, bright and early from John Watson. He had kept his friend as a contact out of morbid hope that he would soon return to see he friend and normality would set in. Of course, he knew it would never happen.  
'My therapist said I should text you. I’m not even sure what to say. I feel so stupid, texting a dead man. It’s not like I can bring you back. -JW' his eyes scanned multiple times over the text, smiling a bit at it. John had been thinking the same foolish thought that had been running through his own mind. Some how, one of them could manage to bring them together for good. Though, he knew better and never kept the hopeful thought present for too long. He wasn't going to respond to the text, either. Rather, he couldn't. The phone was placed back on his night stand, and he stood to get changed into clothes for running errands. Seconds later, he heard the phone buzz loudly across the table. He awkwardly pulled out of his half removed shirt, and checked the phone.  
'You’d probably call me an idiot. -JW' he allowed himself to give a short laugh to that one. He did in fact think it was rather stupid. It was pointless to dwell on the past and hope for a future that would never happen. Still, he felt an appreciation for his silly effort. He gripped the phone in both hands and typed out a response.  
'Better then to sulk about it and ruin your day - SH' he nearly pressed the send button on his phone, swallowing as his mouth grew dry. He drafted the response and placed the phone down once again.  
The day started off slow, and incredibly tedious as most days were. The first thing he had on his mental to do list, pick up food for the week. The money he was getting for rent and errands, was from Lestrade, Molly and Mrs.Hudson. It was near impossible for him to get a full working job. Too much of a risk of being noticed. He out stretched his hand to grab a can of soup, when he felt his phone buzz again. His curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to check the massage before grabbing the can.  
'Lestrade’s wearing his wedding ring again; they must’ve gotten back together. -JW' Sherlock had heard about that. It wasn't going to last though, that he knew. It never would. He took the can quickly, feeling the phone buzz again seconds later.  
'You’d say that was obvious, wouldn’t you? -JW' he scrunched his nose and decided on writing another response to the message.  
'Sorry to disappoint you, but I've already heard about that. Won't last. - SH' he drafted the message and pocketed his phone, taking his food to the check out. He wasn't expecting another text for a while, but surprisingly he received another right after placing down his last item to be scanned.  
'I miss you. -JW' he felt his mouth twist into an awkward smile and he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deeply and handing a fifty pound note to the cashier. He couldn't bring himself to respond to that message, no matter how much he wanted to. He felt nearly irritated as another text caused his phone to buzz.  
'We’re out of milk. -JW' his brows dropped with confusion. Why had he decided to text Sherlock about that? Still, he thought he'd better write a reply.  
'Luckily for you, I'm at the shop now. I'll pick some up while I'm here. - SH' he almost felt like sending this one out of sick, twisted humour but instead drafted it like he normally did, picking up his bags and lugging them back to his flat. For the rest of the night he spent dragging his feet around his flat, cooking supper and occasionally watching the news for recent crimes. He'd peer at his unmoving phone, hoping for a text but never received one. Perhaps John had gotten tired of texting someone who would never respond.  
The next morning Sherlock awoke with a bitter taste in his mouth. The spark of joy he had received from yesterday had faded during sleep. Still, he kept the texts, but wasn't sure why he bothered. His breakfast was toast and jam, as it usually was. It was simple, but better then nothing. He had been finding it hard to continue eating. The dishes weren't much of a hassle that way. He cleaned off the knife he had used to spread the jam, and heard a faint buzzing from the kitchen table. The knife clattered into the sink as he nearly jumped to read the message, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
'I’ve started dating a girl named Mary. She’s compassionate, intelligent, and beautiful. You’d hate her. -JW' his expression darkened, feeling a pang of jealousy shoot across his chest. Why should he care? It was good that John was moving on. He deserved happiness beyond Sherlock. John was right, still. He did hate her, with every fibre of his being.  
'She sounds dull. - SH' he texted with disdain, drafting the response as the bitter taste returned to his mouth. He had a meeting with Lestrade across town. Even under wraps, he still sometimes called on Sherlock to help with a crime they were puzzled on. They were all rather simple though, to him.  
As he suspected, the meeting was short and quick. Another simple crime solved. Before pushing the office door open, he felt two continual buzzes from his phone.  
'Saw someone who looked like you in the tube. -JW' his heart skipped a beat, eyes widening. John had been on the tube with him? His grumbling must've preoccupied his mind. 'It wasn’t you. -JW' he gave a quick sigh of relief and began to walk once again, texting with his thumb.  
'Don't be so sure. - SH' he chuckled as the message saved to his phone, gripping it tightly in his palm, which had grown sweaty. He looked very different now, he had been told by Lestrade. He was required every three months to die his hair to be ginger, along with a slight haircut. He also wasn't allowed to wear his old clothes. He was forced into baggy sweat pants and plain t shirts. The only defining article of clothing he owned was a long, grey coat. He quite liked it, surprisingly. He wasn't sure anyone else did.  
He was sure it was another week that had passed. He was positive John had forgotten about texting him now. Probably too busy making stupid noises with Mary, maybe even planning a proposal. Sherlock must have been the last thing on John's mind. He felt rather abandoned, though scolded himself for not expecting it sooner. While lounging around on his sofa, the buzzing phone nearly made him jump. He stopped himself from getting to excited about it, even after a second text came into his phone that moment.  
'Sorry I haven’t texted in a while; I’ve been distracted with Mary. -JW' Just as he thought. Mary. "Is that a good thing? I think it is. -JW" his eyes glazed in annoyance. He didn't like the constant talk of this women, though he supposed it was better then constant topic changing. Before he had a chance to respond, another text alert appeared on his phone. 'I think I’m going to ask her to marry me. -JW' his eyes lowered and he felt his heart drop, ever so slightly. He was right again. Sometimes he hated being right.  
'Never thought you would settle down with a girl. Congratulations. - SH' this was a response he didn't even want to save. He deleted it and tossed the phone onto the table beside him.  
He didn't expect any more texts from John after that. He was getting married, after all. He didn't have time to be texting a 'dead' man any longer. Even after all the times he had already told himself that, he was sure marriage confirmed that. He was wrong, much to his surprise. Maybe he had some free time before the wedding? He'd received three while taking a nap, and felt bad for not checking them earlier. Not like it mattered.  
'Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Stage 4. She knew. -JW' his jaw nearly dropped. That was something he hadn't been suspecting at all. 'She knew and she didn’t tell me, Sherlock. -JW' he rose a hand to his chest and clenched the baggy fabric, running his tongue over his lips, guilt setting in the pit of his stomach. 'I can’t lose her too. -JW' it took him a moment after reading it to convince himself to write a response, but he did eventually.  
'I wish I could be there for you John. The last thing you deserve is to be alone again. - SH' his face was dark as he read his own text, over and over again. He was hesitant, but he saved it in the end.  
Now he was expecting an update on her condition. He waited for two days, lounging around the flat and flipping through books he had read multiple times in the past, just waiting for the text. His patience was rewarded the evening of the second day with two texts.  
'The funeral’s Wednesday. -JW' unfortunately, he had a feeling that was going to be the outcome after hearing about it. 'I need you. Why aren’t you here when I need you? -JW' he could hop on the tube and see him, but that would be incredibly stupid. Worst decision he could make, yet he found himself considering it.  
'I would pay you a visit, if I could. Too caught up in my own problems im afraid. - SH' the messaged automatically drafted. He curled up, feeling horrible about this whole mess. He missed the simple days he lived back at 221b. More or less, he missed being with John.  
He got other texts later the same day during his supper. Some plain pasta, which had also been a rather routine meal for him. It was a change from the zero texts he had received some days. In a way, he was glad he had something to ponder over.  
'Ella (my therapist, you probably don’t remember her) thinks I’m going to go off the deep end. -JW' that was another thing Sherlock had suspected. As strong as John was, losing his fiancee and friend was a lot after everything else he had to deal with. He prayed that John could hold about a bit longer for him, in some way. 'I’m sorry, Sherlock. -JW' What was there to be sorry about? He had an idea. Something he had turned to himself a while ago. Knowing John, he wouldn't be on it for long though. He wasn't one for drugs.  
'One shot and you're done. You could never put such sludge in your veins. - SH' it was more of a demand then a prediction. He was thankful for the auto drafting. It was becoming rather irritating though. Not more then a minute passed and he received yet another message.  
'I couldn’t do it. I don’t think I ever could’ve. I miss you. -JW' he hadn't even done a shot. A grin slipped across Sherlock's slender face as pride filled his chest. John wasn't as deep in as he thought he was.  
'What did I say? You're too sensible for that. - SH' auto drafted again. He hadn't even lifted his finger.  
He forced himself to go for a stroll the next day. Blue, cloudless sky and a nice mood setting all around himself. The park around the corner looked abandoned, so he took a seat on the park bench, crossing his legs up onto it and took a long draw of air, closing his eyes. It was refreshing to be able to worry a little less at times like this. The alert from his phone only brightened his mood.  
'I saw Mrs. Hudson today. She told me about when she met you. You were young, twenty-three? Twenty-four? -JW' odd question to be asking, though he was glad he could talk to Mrs.Hudson about him. She was terribly interested on how he had survived the fall, but hadn't told her. She kept his secret from John still. 'What did you look like when you were twenty-three? Was that before or after the drugs? -JW' he'd never really even considered that himself. He was rather grungy, obviously. Horrendously thin and pale. He had sores as well, if he remembered correctly. 'I shouldn’t have waited until now to ask you. Sorry. -JW' a chuckle managed to escape his barely parted lips. Apologizing to a dead man. Then again, he was still texting him as well, and that said something.  
'No, don't apologize. It was during the drugs. I looked horrid. You'll never see me in that state again. - SH' that was incredibly true. Never again would he let himself get so sucked into the routine of the drugs. It took over his mind, and he could stand his body betraying him. The message drafted, and before he could put his phone away, the alert showed up again.  
'I think I love you. -JW' he felt the phone slide down his palm and drop to his lap, leaning over to rub his flushed face. That was something he never expected. A part of him didn't mind it so much.  
'I love you too. - SH' drafted. He wanted to send that one, more then any other. Maybe someday.  
The routine of not a text a day returned and he wondered for John's safety. Something might of happened, but he doubted it. Or at least wanted to. Two weeks he scratched off the calender, and only one case in the entire time. He hated it, the sluggish rut he was getting himself into. The next text he received, was one he had been waiting for in a sense.  
'Sorry it’s been so long. I saw Lestrade again. The ring’s gone. -JW' even after this long, his prediction had remained correct. Now he only hoped Lestrade wouldn't be enough of a tit to think of getting back together with her.  
'What did I tell you? Wouldn't, couldn't last between them. - SH' the auto drafting had him fed up now. He deactivated it after that message. Out of odd sympathy, he travelled across the city to see Lestrade and check up on him. Ask him if he wanted to come over for some tea maybe. He was rejected, saying that would be too risky. He didn't see how, it was just tea. He gave a huff and left the office room, peering at the text displayed on his screen. It must have opened by accident.  
'Saw a man in a long coat; thought of you. He was ginger, though. -JW' Sherlock pursed his lips, giving a toothy grin. It had probably been him. He thought he'd seen John, but he wasn't positive.  
'Sorry, that was me. - SH' and without thinking, he pressed the send button. It clued into him a second later, as he saw the conformation 'Sent' appear on his screen, and he could have sworn his heart stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stood erect in posture, his legs feeling as if they could collapse under his own weight. Not now, not ever did he ever expect himself to make such a stupid mistake. He'd done it now and there was nothing he could do to take it back. 

'Who ever this is, it's not bloody funny.' it was sent without initials. Why? John had been texting this same number with great confidence only moments ago. He kept himself walking and made his way to the street, unmoving from in front of the tall building. He gazed down at the phone in his hand, frowning a bit. 

'I don't believe it’s funny in the least, either.' he didn't understand why he had the right to be smug about this, or why he was even continuing this conversation at all. He'd gone this long without John, why couldn't he go a bit longer? He could stop then and now and continue on his mundane life at his small flat. He was finding himself craving more than that though. Then again, he always had craved more. The months passed so slowly, so painfully and he could feel his brain scratching itself raw. 

'Look, I don't know who you are. Frankly, I don't care anymore. I suggest you stop impersonating a dead man and try to be yourself for once; it might suit you better.' He couldn't help but wonder how often John was pestered by bored souls that were pretending to be the 'deceased' detective. The amount of frustration he was getting from these texts was incredible. He could nearly feel how fed up and broken his friend was. Although, John's utter disbelief upset him to some extent. 

'I believe I am being myself, John. I've been being myself for weeks, receiving your texts after texts.' he paused to read the message over a few times. 'Don't you bloody tell me who to be acting like.' the text was sent, although he knew he had no right to be angry. John had been through ups and downs that would drive any normal person insane, and here he was alive and well. 

'You're not the first person to try this and I doubt you're the last; you might as well quit while you're ahead.' at least John was stating the obvious now. He hailed himself a cab, or at least attempted too. There wasn't one in sight for some time now. Traffic was unusually slow today, but then again routine wasn't something that was expected very often. His gaze flicked from the phone to the road constantly in order to spot a passing cab. 

'No matter if you believe me or not, you're still responding to me. In the back of your mind, you know this number is mine and I am me. You aren't kidding yourself John.' a cluster of cars and other modes of transportation were in Sherlock's view. His face brightened at the sight of a lone, empty taxi. It pulled up to nearly bump the side walk curb and Sherlock exchanged a smile with the cab driver, speaking John's flat address. He had been told it many times by Mrs. Hudson. She often insisted Sherlock pay him a visit, but he would never do it. 

'Right; you realize I can track this number. Fuck off.' straightening his back, Sherlock gave a small laugh at the aggressive response. John was questioning himself now, which was something he knew John hated. In fact, he was sure no one particularly liked questioning themselves. His eyes drifted from the phone to the passing buildings outside of the cab. Almost too soon, there was a response. He forgot he was actually sending these responses now. 

'Be my guest.' he could understand John's utter disbelief for this whole thing. He did believe Sherlock to be dead after all. That he was actually second guessing himself on the identity of the number he had been texting for about a month was rather hilarious. He sunk into the back leather seat of the small taxi and closed his eyes, feeling the phone buzz in his palm again. 

'Fine then, I will.' Sherlock wouldn't even bother responding to this text. He knew John would be on his way back from the clinic right after tracking the phone's location. He slipped the phone into his pocket and hummed a bit to himself. He wasn't one to want to fill an odd silence but the smugness that had come onto him so suddenly was just as quickly replaced with panic. This meeting was happening now, after so many months. He had to remind himself he wasn't always able to see John. For some time, he had actually the choice to return to John, but never did it. Lestrade had told him Sherlock might have been careless and missed one of Jim's underlings, though Sherlock was positive Lestrade was just concerned about Sherlock returning to normality. The taxi came to a halt sooner than he would have liked, but still he handed a fifty pound note to the driver from his shaky hand and emerged from the small vehicle. In front of his cab was another, from which John Watson exited. Sherlock could feel the air in his lungs become thick as his breathing strained. His coat fluttered around his legs in the faint winds and he raised a hand, waving with his fingertips. A smile crawled across his face a bit, and he felt bile rising bitterly in the back of his throat. Sherlock watched as John approached him at a rather staggering pace, only to clamp down on Sherlock's lower arms and stare him directly in the face. The taller man refused to meet the gaze of his friend, not wanting to risk tears just yet. He refused to be the first to speak, because he was positive the only thing he could manage to do was release a gush of air. John had retracted his hands and was now wearing a cold and unmoving expression. 

"Explain." was all John said, his arms limp by his sides. Sherlock noticed John constantly eyeing him. He must have been weighing the possibility of this not being reality. Sherlock motioned with his head towards John's flat and cleared his throat in order to sound as audible as possible. 

"Perhaps over tea." Sherlock made John the offer with a controlled smile, unable to take the step towards the building that he wanted to. 

"Yes, right, what- fine."

"Thank you." He followed in John's stride, keeping his gaze on the pavement beneath his feet and the steps into the dull building. The furniture was simple and the flat itself was clean and had a musty scent to it. He quite liked it though. He sat in silence while prepared tea in the kitchen. He was curious how the doctor managed to slip out of work that day. Maybe he'd been sick recently already. He wouldn’t ask, because he didn't quite feel like he had any place to. John brought in a single cup of tea and handed it off to Sherlock, his expression no longer cold, but enraged and expecting. 

"Now, tell me everything." Sherlock certainly had missed that demanding voice. It was a pleasure to hear again. 

"Right, because ten minutes ago I was nothing more than a fool pretending to be a dead man. I suppose I do owe you an explanation." John was silent, his features sharpening to show his disapproving of how snarky Sherlock thought he had permission to be right now. It didn’t fail to make him incredibly guilty. "Fine. I died to disappear, though a few others know I'm alive." he took a small sip of the tea, enjoying the feeling of the steam on his face. "I wouldn't be wearing such a sour face if I were you. This was almost entirely for your safety."

"Who knew?"

"Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson."

"You trusted me but not them?" Sherlock was taken aback by that a bit, setting his tea down lightly. He never suspected John would take this disappearance so personally. Then again, there was little Sherlock understood about the way John thought. 

"What makes you think their knowledge has anything to do with trust?"

"I don't see why you felt the need to hide this from me." Sherlock couldn't avoid a full explanation for long, no matter how much he wanted to. John deserved it more than anyone. 

“I was afraid that if I approached you to tell you about my plan, I wouldn’t be able to finish my job on my own.” He felt embarrassed even admitting that. When it came down to it, Sherlock really enjoyed having John there for him in the toughest of times. But that was a job he needed to do on his own, and luckily had. 

”What job?” Sherlock couldn’t avoid it now. He needed to tell John what he had been hiding for so long. It only occurred to him now that it might not just have been boredom alone that caused him to nearly go insane. 

”I was given a threat by Moriarty. If I didn’t die, you Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would all die. So I jumped. But I couldn’t-“he paused, trying to cease the shaking which had resumed throughout his whole body again. “I couldn’t leave you and the others. So I faked it. And if anyone connected to Moriarty found me alive, they wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.” He body was betraying him again. He hated the feeling of not being able to control the way his body reacted to emotions. Normally, no matter what he was feeling, he looked as if the last thing that mattered to him in the world was worrying or even vaguely responding to his situation. He supposed the time he had spent on his own, sitting and considering so much. He recalled one job he had done and the man he had killed brought him to a startling realization. He couldn’t just kill men and live on life like nothing had happened. In days, months, years. He would still know himself, that he had killed so many people, ruined so many lives it was mind blowing. Some of these men had wives and children. And although mocking others and causing potential nervous breakdowns had never been much of a problem to Sherlock, killing man after man wasn’t just something a normal bloke did every day. “I told the others because I could keep my distance from them and only go out when it was absolutely necessary. If I had told you, I would have convinced myself to stay too soon.” He pressed his thumb and index fingers to his eyes, feeling the blood pumping behind them. It was surprising that John was keeping himself so calm like this. His dead best friend was sitting in front of him and all he could do was stare. 

”Then why are you here? What changed?” another question Sherlock had been hoping to avoid. He removed his phone, which humorously still wore the pink case from so long ago. 

”You began to text me and I began to respond.” He handed the phone to John and watch him scroll though, only remembering the second John’s face flushed that he had saved a response to the most sentimental text he had ever written, and would most likely ever write.

”You could have come back at any point; why’d you wait until now?” the aggravation had slipped from his voice and was replaced with curiosity. Even Sherlock hadn’t thought to hard about that. It was obvious, now that he considered it. 

”After that slip up, I realized I was killing myself living this ruse. And I read though the texts and knew I would never forgive myself if you were living thinking I was dead another day.” His shoulders shook and he took a sharp breath in through his nose, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe he was breaking this easily. The lack of control was over whelming. 

”A year and a half. A bloody year and a half, I thought you were dead and it tore me apart. And now you’re back and it was all a ruse and I can’t even be mad at you.” It had been a while since he’d seen John cry, and it didn’t feel any better than it did back then. “This is pathetic.” Sherlock bit his tongue and felt tears of his own fall to his lap quietly. 

“I don’t believe I can stay, either.” Sherlock muttered, voice cracking with nearly every word. He peered at his hands and chuckled a bit. He had been flexing his fingers for some time now. 

”Why not?”

”I hate myself. You can’t forgive me like this.”

“I’m not saying I forgive you; I’m saying there is no fucking way I’m losing you.” Sherlock nearly cringed when he heard John’s voice break. “Not again.”

”I’m sorry. I’ve been done for a while and Lestrade said I should be careful despite that. We could have always missed someone.” He reached up to wipe his eyes gingerly. He moved onto the far side of the couch as John took a seat next to him. He didn’t particularly like this closeness, but it wasn’t horrible. 

”Have you ever considered that I don’t care? I don’t care if it puts my life in danger. I enjoy danger!” that Sherlock knew and had suspected from the first day he met John. He’d admit to himself that it was a trait of John’s Sherlock really admired. 

”That isn’t it. I didn’t keep from you because of the potential danger. It was due to my own fear.” Expressing his insecurities was something he never thought would happen, not even at a time like this. But then again, when was a time like this something usual? Not having any strong knowledge on events that would take place in his mind should have been anticipated. 

”Fear of what?” He could sense John’s uncertainty and although he was feeling incredibly responsible, it still irritated him. He had been doing too much explaining today and it was becoming a nuisance. 

”A fear that I was too dependent on you, and that I could no longer fight for myself. It was reassuring to finish the job by myself. And the day I ‘died’, I considered telling you. But they knew you as my closest friend and I knew that with that knowledge, they’d keep their eyes on you until my death was confirmed.” He hoped that was the most amount of explaining he would be asked to do today. “It’s been a little over a month since I’ve finished.”

”Ah-“he puzzled at John’s sudden stop. “Are you going to stay? Or at least stay in touch?” he was pleased John was shifting from the topic of this ordeal. He’d done enough thinking about it himself. The pit of guilt returned to his stomach. 

”I’d like to, if you wouldn’t mind too terribly.” His mouth quirked into a grin and he felt the weight and stress on his mind leaving him as John returned the smile. 

”Of course.” After the minutes he had spent in John’s presence, he finally matched gazes with his friend and saw the life behind his eyes. “Oh and, Sherlock?”

”Yes, John?” he felt John’s arms wrap around his waist and froze with surprise, returning the embrace gently. 

”Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Sherlock felt that didn’t warrant a response. That the hug was enough to explain his thought about that. “I can’t believe you’re really back.” He was correct about that too. John had thought his mind’s reality had been off. Luckily, he wasn't quite insane yet. 

”Neither can I.” he sighed a bit and shifted his weight around on the couch. It occurred to him then, that this closeness was what he had been wanting- no, needing for so long. And even with that mistake against his seemingly better judgement, here they were sitting in the same flat and exchanging feelings of appreciation. Surprisingly enough, Sherlock couldn’t have wanted this to turn out better than it had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually based almost entirely off an rp I had directly after I wrote the first fic. John's interactions belong to reichensobbing of tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank my wonderful friend for providing me with John's side of the conversation! I wouldn't have been able to write this without her~ I didn't use them all due to ME BEING STUPID but I used a lot of them~


End file.
